First Impressions
by Clockwork000
Summary: The first time Roman and Neo met, it wasn't a pleasant experience. Sometimes the first impressions have the worst intentions. One-shot.


**Disclaimer** **–** _I claim no ownership to the characters used in this fan work. The characters rightfully belong to their creators such as Monty Oum and their other respective owners at Roosterteeth._

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 **First Impressions**

The emerald eyed thief sat casually in a poorly maintained wooden chair. One leg over the other as he took a small drag from his cigar and shot out a couple puffs of smoke. He wore a calm and almost contemptuous look on his face.

Seated opposite of the small, greasy and chipped round table was a young woman. If she were to stand, she would have barely reached the man's stomach. Her hair, brown on one side, pink on the other with a few streaks of white in between. It was messy, clearly uncared for over at least a few days. Her eyes pink on the right and white in the other. Blinking, they shifted to white in the other and brown where it used to be. Even as the colors changed, the defiant and scornful look never wavered. A thick bruise on the underside of her chin standing out.

Around the petite girl's mouth was a rag that gagged her as it was tied around to the back of her head. The woman was handcuffed around the wrists, her hands restrained to politely rest on her lap. Her ankles tied to the front legs of the chair with rope. She was donned solely in a single dirty gray cotton garb that reached down to her knees and was completely barefoot. The seems of the simple gown held together by obvious patchwork that had been sewn back together dozens of times from tears and use.

The two were in a practically claustrophobic back room of sorts. Crates full of who knew what shoved into the corners. While the room seemed to be sound proof to a degree, there were rhythmic booms coming from outside. This being a repercussion of playing such loud music out of massive speakers that were placed right next to the door.

Reaching over, Torchwick pulled a dirty cigarette tray and stomped out his cigar. Turning sharply to his right, the thief stared at a local grunt of the establishment who was dressed in leather and hiding his face with thick dark sunglasses. "So, can you tell me anything about her, or-?" More impatience in his voice than any real annoyance.

"The boss'll be here in just a moment. He's dealing with some important customers at the bar up front." The man explained pointedly, clearly prepared for this question.

With a silent huff, Roman started tapping his fingers restlessly on the musty table as he looked away. "You know why I like dealing with club owners? Usually, you walk in, talk to someone and explain you need some knock-around guys. With no questions asked, you exchange some money and leave."

Glancing back over at the grunt, he shot a light callous look. "I've been here, what? Fifteen minutes?" As the man was keeping an eye on the two seemed to start to squirm, the crook hammered the final nail in the coffin. "Junior was that quick. Maybe I should take my business back there again." He remarked, certain to bring up the name of their business competitor.

Standing up straight, the goon started walking over to the door. "I'll let the boss know you're in a hurry." Opening up the door, bombastic rave music filled the room only for a second before he took his leave and slammed the door behind him.

Alone with his restrained guest, Torchwick faced her in a good-natured manner. "Good help is so hard to find these days." A smug smirk crawling onto his face as he went on. "Hopefully you can fill that hole for me."

Completely still, the bound woman's eyes darted to the ashtray for only split-second. As they returned to normal, she found this subtle motion was fully observed.

His smirk remaining present, Roman stared at the woman across from him. "Did you just- Did you just look to see if my cigar was still lit?" Curiously, he glanced over at it himself. "What would you do if it was, I wonder? Toss the ashes in my eye? Try to burn me?" A pleasant look on his face the more he considered the thought. "Not exactly a long term strategy. Now, something tells me you know that though, don't you?"

Before their one-sided interview could be continued, uproarious music entered the room again. Without even looking behind him, the criminal knew they once again had company.

As he slammed the door behind them, a very top heavy man entered the back room. Pausing near the door, he pulled the grunt from before over to him. "You left them alone?" He shouted in the softest whisper he could manage. "Don't ever do this again! Girl is dangerous. You know this!" His accent thick, clearly not a local born resident.

With stomping footsteps, the heavy set man walked over and pushed a waist high wooden crate over to use as a seat by the table. "It is good to meet you Mr. Torchwick. I apologize for the wait. When we got your call an hour ago, I already had several clients to talk to. It has been very busy night." Extending his arm for a greeting handshake, the thief paused.

The man before the white dressed crook was a slob. A dress shirt tucked only partially into his pants. Stains of several different beverages located down by his gut. His black hair was greased back, with extra grease it almost seemed. Noticing these factors, the gentlemanly criminal held back his hand, no matter how bad it may have been for a first meeting.

A bit offended, the owner pulled back his hand and turned to the restrained girl across from the two of them. Although gagged, pursed lips along the corners of her mouth gave the illusion of the faintest of smirks.

Scowling, the owner stood up from his seat. "You think this is funny? Do you?" Pulling back his right hand he prepared a heavy backhand toward the woman.

Closing her eyes, the girl braced herself with a blow she seemed more than used too. After a second of not feeling any contact, she opened her eyes to a startling sight.

The arm was halted halfway through it's swing. Torchwick, leaning forward in his rickety chair, had grabbed the other by his wrist before the blow could hit. With a neutral expression originally, a polite smile regrew across Roman's face. "I'd rather not purchase damaged goods, if that's alright with you."

Discontent with how the meeting had been going, the trafficer decided making any more disagreeable decisions would cost him. Retracting his arm, both him and his client sat back down professionally.

Looking over at the woman, the emerald eyed thief wore an offhanded gaze. "Well now, if we don't remove the gag how else is she going to tell me about herself?" He joked, trying to lighten the stagnant mood.

"No." Was all the club owner said at first. He shook his head just thinking about it. "Is pointless anyway. Girl cannot speak."

Curious by this statement, Roman cocked a brow. "A mute? Maybe she just doesn't like you?" His second snide comment going over just about as well as the first. "Then what's the gag for?"

At the criminal's justified question, the lackey behind the owner pulled his right hand behind his back. As he did so, Torchwick noticed something he hadn't before. The goon's right hand had thick bandages around half the fingers of his left hand.

"It is for..." The human trafficer started. "...precaution." He finished, ignoring eye contact abashedly.

More interested than before, the crook kept up a steady gaze at the female across from him. "I see." Realizing he would need to ask the owner for any real information from this point on, he began with simple questions. "Age? Experience? I'd rather not drag around a minor for assistance in my felonies."

Mulling the question over in his head, the club owner scratched the underside of his chin. "We had doctor check her out when we acquired her. He says she is somewhere between fifteen and mid twenties."

Roman couldn't stop himself from chuckling at the diagnostic which seemed very little more than a general assumption. "Oh yes, and I'm certain his degree is of the finest quality to be in your top-notch service."

"As for experience..." The slobbish man continued, ignoring the off handed insult. Whether this was from his own acknowledgment in the shoddy claim or him taking the high ground was unknown. "She is very good with knife."

With a coy grin, the inquisitive buyer leaned forward and laced his gloved fingers within themselves. "Oh? And how did she get a knife?"

When the owner looked over his shoulder, the grunt looked away ashamedly. "There was accident." Was all the large man said on the matter.

As an almost nefarious thought crept into his head, Torchwick grew a smile to match. "I'll need some proof of course. Someone loan me a dagger, would you?" He requested in all seriousness.

"No. Bad idea." The owner shot down the suggestion immediately.

Standing up, Roman slipped his left hand into into his pants pocket as he started walked around the small round table with his cane. "You don't drive a car without giving it a test run, do you?" Still being shot skeptical looks, the crook pulled out and extended his open left hand in front of him. "I just want to see how she holds it. I'll be able to verify if what you're saying is true or not from there."

Staring with an insecure manner up at his potential buyer, the boss motioned for his lackey to come over toward him. The grunt hunching over, his boss whispered something into his ear and he nodded.

Standing up straight, the goon walked over and pulled a pressed in switchblade out of his pants pocket. Handing it to Torchwick, the man looked it over quickly. Pressing in on a pressure latch on the side, the knife shot out to it's full extension. As he twirled the handle around in his fingers, a certain degree of fluent motion and skill was shown that no ordinary person would be capable of without practice.

Walking back around the beaten up wooden stand, the thief spun the blade between his fingertips one more time before retracting the blade.

Halting his feet directing in front of the young woman, Roman took a slow knee so that the two would face each other eye to eye. Contempt held firmly in one's gaze, snide apathy in the other. Gently grabbing her right hand, the thief softly slipped the handle into her palm, all the while never breaking eye contact. As soon as he went to pull his hand away, the woman instantly went for the latch. Perhaps expecting this, Roman yanked his hand away instantly, narrowly avoiding what could have been a deep cut.

The owner hopped up, about to reprimand the girl as well as his client for his reckless actions. He was halted however when Torchwick held up one of his hands to show to them he was fine and had no need for assistance. A pleased look about him as he admired the way she held the blade.

Her fingers cradled the handle very naturally. The dainty fingertips of her middle and index hovering just below the broad end of the steel. Her thumb pressing strongly against the course section of the back to strengthen any slashing motion she would make. The handcuffs being the only thing preventing her from a proper demonstration right then and there.

"Very good. Now what about a stabbing form?" The crook asked calmly.

Forgoing the command at first, the steel was rotated swiftly in one hand so that the tip now faced the floor. The fingers wrapping around the handle with a much firmer inclination than before. Her thumb insisting upon the butt of the handle so that if she were to stab it downward, any resistance would be fought and extinguished.

Much like the first time, it only took a few moments to judge the expertise of the wielder. The rest was spent on his admiration of the conviction and intent on the younger's face. It was the kind of expression which almost seemed to beg the older closer so that she could show him exactly what she was capable of with that knife.

While keeping her attention distracted, Roman reached over and seized the petite woman's wrist. Holding it firmly, he wormed his hand into her own and safely pried the weapon from her grasp.

Standing back up, the thief made it very clear that he had reclaimed the knife and pulled the blade back inside so that there was no immediate danger now that it was back in his possession. "Very good. I'll take her." He announced candidly, tossing his cane into the air and catching it near the base.

With a celebratory clap of his hands, the club owner stiffly made his way around. His subordinate taking the other way around to safely begin releasing the small but dangerous girl.

"Does she have a name?" Torchwick asked once again refusing a business handshake.

Lowering his hand and arm somewhat disgruntled, the man crossed them over his chest instead. He shot what would probably be his last glare toward the young woman. "Some of my men call her: Neapolitan."

"How clever." The classy rouge scoffed, coming off a little condescending.

After the handcuffs had become undone, the rope around her ankles was removed. The first thing she did, before even touching her gag, was massage her wrists. A deep red outline impressed into her skin from their tightness. Finishing up, ready to move onto her last restraint, the young girl was surprised to see the thief had already leaned down and undid the back for her. Loosening up her jaw, she allowed the rest to be taken away fully. It almost seemed to take a few moments for her mouth to accustom itself back to it's neutral position. For the time being, she remained in her seat. One leg crossing over the other as she crossed her arms defiantly near the waist.

Finished with the rag, the white clad rouge discarded the cloth down onto the table. Afterwords, he dusted his two hands off by quickly wiping them off against each other. After all, who knew where else that rag had been. "Now then," Roman began, done cleaning tidying himself up. "I believe we discussed the price over the phone." He mentioned as he slipped his hand into an interior pocket in his coat, pulling out a wallet.

"I hope that we continue to do business together like this." The trafficer spoke with a wide smile as the high marked Lien bills were passed over to him.

With a respectful tip of his cap, the orange haired man turned over to his freshly acquired help. "Yes, wouldn't that be nice." His face was expressionless. His words, completely unconvincing. About to say something more, he was cut off.

"Hold it!" The club owner shouted, his face starting to show shades of red. "This amount is not what we agreed. You are short!" His anger rising from the presumed attempt to be made a fool of.

"Yes. I'm aware." The arrogant man patronized fearlessly. In an act of further disrespect, he made it very clear as his put his wallet away, back on his person. "I took the liberty of applying some discounts. I had to subtract some of your fee after my long wait. Not to mention the shameful service. And don't get me started on the quality of this room." With slow strides, the fast talking criminal had started pacing around the room, ignoring eye contact. "In all honesty, you should be thanking me for taking this problematic woman off your hands."

Pivoting sharply on his back heel, Roman faced the owner again as he leaned back first against a side wall. The forced polite smile maintained as he stared down the glare from across the room. "Or," He spoke up, seeing that he had pressed his luck a little too far. "...you can view this as an investment, for our long business partnership together."

Slamming one of his fists down on the table, the heavy set man had been rendered into a state of silent fury. Taking a long deep breath, he exhaled and unclenched his hand. Lifting it up, he pointed aggressively at his chattery client. "Fine! But you are buying most expensive drink at bar!" The harshness in his tone showing how this would be one of the few aspects he would not be taking any leniency with.

Nodding, the orange haired criminal fanned off the command. "Okay, okay. Calm down. No need to raise your voice."

Walking back over to the center of the small room, he stopped himself in front of the mute woman. Keeping his legs firm, he lowered his head. This shrinking the height gap between them if only by a moderate degree. An eagerless but far from draconian look on his face. "Well then, Neo." He paused briefly, his alteration of their nickname acting as a new branding for her. "From this point on, you work for me now." The man's words more authoritative than before.

Casting her gaze away, the mult-color haired girl ignored the older's words. Unlike before, her previous owner remained silent. In fact, he almost seemed smug and amused by it. It made sense. She wasn't _his_ problem anymore.

Using his cane, Torchwick gently corrected the younger's eyes back toward his direction using the bottom end. "The key words here being: 'work for' and not: 'owned by'." Sighing, he rolled his eyes. "I've tried the whole slavery thing before, doesn't quite work that well." His tone dry and informative despite the direness of the subject matter. "Hard workers, sure, but they always give you the evil eye when you turn around. Since I get enough death glares as it is, I've decided to make you my employee, instead of my property." If his tone wasn't so droll or spoke with such disregard, one could almost view the circumstances with a more lightheartedness than it truly was.

While still skeptical, the mute gave this man at the very least the base of her attention. She looked up at him with a disinterested stare. It wasn't much, but it was better than the contempt she held earlier.

"Let me explain what this means." Roman prepared, standing back upright. "You will not receive a salary or be paid on commission. You will instead receive a small cut of everything you _acquire_ while under me. You would also be entitled to flat rates should your service be required for other jobs of my numerous ventures, but you can worry about that another time."

Feeling his explanation dolled on longer than he expected, he snapped his fingers in front of the girl's face in case she wasn't paying as much attention as she seemed. "In other words, you'll be taken care of financially. Aside from that, you can come and go as you please."

The woman's eyes grew wider at the end. Surely it must have been a joke. Assuredly, he was leading her on. He was lying. There was no way anything just uttered out of the mouth of this egocentric man was true.

Although she had said nothing, the thief rose a brow. It was as if he could tell his words were being doubted. "What's wrong? Don't believe me?" He challenged.

"Pfft!" The club owner jeered. Clearly he found the whole scenario laughable. "You buy her. You own her. You need not pay her anything." The slob of a business man stated in a cold hearted manner.

Shaking his head with a disappointed look, Torchwick assumed his prior condescending expression. "Seems like someone isn't listening, doesn't it?" He asked, motioning toward the silent woman.

Reaching inside his coat, the man in white took out his wallet again. "Okay. It seems I'll have to give you an advancement to prove to you I'm entirely serious." Grabbing a thick handful of high marked bills, he opened up Neo's hand and pressed them firmly in her grip.

Roman's new hire was still for a moment. She couldn't garner the Lien's full entirety from just a glance, but it was clearly more than three times the amount he had paid for her. There was also something else hidden underneath that she couldn't quite determine.

"This is crazy!" The large owner shouted in protest. "You are crazy!"

Neglecting the other's outcry, the at times gentlemanly criminal kept his eyes on his most recent staff addition. Seeing the dumbfounded look on her face, he released an overly dramatic sigh. "Still not good enough for you? Well don't we have a high opinion of ourselves." Reaching into his wallet once more, he plucked out most of what remained. With a flashy motion, he tossed the bills high above. The currency raining down around the claustrophobic room like confetti.

The head boss and his lackey were completely stunned by this act. Neo, if not already, would have been rendered speechless. She was utterly astonished. Unlike before when she couldn't have cared less, her eyes could no longer be ripped away from the sight in front of her. This narcissistic man stood tall and loomed over her with a type of confidence she had never known before. This image of money raining down around them with the other's complete and utter disinterest would forever remain in her mind. What kind of extraordinary life did this man lead to adapt such an attitude, such self-reliance? She wanted to find the answer, she needed to know for herself.

Turning to leave, the crook faced the door. Around him, the last of his disposable income littered the floor. Looking over his shoulder, he caught one last locked gaze with the formerly restrained woman. "Oh, by the way, I'm not a fan of paper trails. Be sure to clean up the mess." An icy direness to his tone that had a sort of venom his former lacked that she couldn't quite understand.

Addressing the door once again, the thief tipped his hat to the owner and went to take his leave. "Love to stay and chat, but I have to go buy the most expensive drink at the bar." He departed with an easygoing wave with his left hand. Opening the door which lead to the main floor, he couldn't help but shake his head at the lousy music the club played as he shut it behind him, abandoning the three.

Left with a bad taste in his mouth, the club owner practically growled to himself. A clenched fist jittering and shaking in aggravation. "You will see to it that Mr. Torchwick has accident before he leaves club, yes?" He asked in verification, facing his grunt behind him.

Nodding his head, the criminal pulled out a concealed handgun from behind his back which he had been carrying on his person. Taking off the safety, he started heading for the door as well.

Looking down at the money left in her hand, Neo lifted the top bills up to see exactly what had been left to her at the bottom. Her eyes broadened in shock as she saw the switchblade she had been asked to handle earlier concealed under the bills. Looking closer, she saw a street address and building number had been scrawled on the underside of the bottom bill just above it. Seeing this, the girl smiled wickedly to herself for a fleeting instant.

As soon as the goon reached the handle of the door exiting the storeroom, the woman formerly classified as property arose into a stand.

Witnessing this, the building owner frowned. "Sit down!" The man hollered obstinately. This order was thoroughly ignored however.

Dropping the money clasped in her hand revealed the switchblade to both of the other men. Panic ruled over them as the blade was extended and the handle was held firmly and with certainty. With a blink, her two eyes were overwritten by two pale and ghostly white iris'. The contours of her face replaced from neutrality to sinisterness. Doubt and mercy seeming to have been abandoned long ago.

"W-When did-?" The grunt stammered as his pupils seemed to dilate in fear. When the rattling of his trembling firearm reached his subconscious, he all of a sudden whipped it out in front of him and tried to take aim.

It was too late. The moment the gun began to be lifted upright, the barefoot female nimbly vaulted forward. While her strides were short, they were swift. By the time he had almost taken aim where she had previously been standing, she had reached him. By the time he had recalled to pull back on the hammer of the gun, her knife was mid swing, and mere inches away from his throat.

Standing casually, Torchwick leaned back first on the opposite side of the store room door. Perhaps uncertain, he decided to see for himself whether or not the room truly was sound proof.

Glancing down near his boots, the criminal wore a wry smirk as a deep red pool of blood began oozing out from under the door frame. "She'll do." The man stated. Something not too distant from delight reverberating in his voice.

 **The End**


End file.
